


dreaming of a white christmas

by moonliteyes (midnightsoul_s)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: But I Love Osaaka Too Much, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gracious Mentions of Food, M/M, Married Couple, Osaaka, Snow, White Christmas, happy holidays, late christmas fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28447521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightsoul_s/pseuds/moonliteyes
Summary: As the snow falls in the cold winter of Japan, two lovers bake and dance.“I love you.”Their steps were slowly falling in sync. One foot back, another forward; one to the left, another to the right. Keiji lifts his eyes to meet Osamu’s. He smiles, no longer paying acute attention to his two left feet. For in front of him was the love of his life, there was no better view. His ivory skin, ebony coloured hair, bright eyes -- Keiji allows himself to slowly fall deeper in love with the flush that spanned from cheek to cheek, leaning in closer to rub his nose on the blush on Osamu’s; they giggle in tandem. While the snow slowly falls outside their windows, Keiji has never felt warmer.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Miya Osamu, Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	dreaming of a white christmas

**Author's Note:**

> this work is my own. any resemblance to other works is purely coincidental. however, all the characters belong to Haruichi Furudate. I take no credit in the creating/making of any of the characters.
> 
> last but not the least, enjoy!

* * *

_クリスマスケーキ_

_Kurisumasukēki_

_Japanese Christmas cake_

* * *

The scent of strawberries and fresh cream lofts around the quaint and chilly apartment. Not because Keiji had gone to his local Lawson and conveniently got to purchase another basket full of strawberry and cream sandwiches. Although that wouldn’t be the first time, the season wouldn’t allow for that.

No, the scent of _kurisumasukēki_ was wafting around the apartment because Keiji was making it himself. Keiji cooking had always been out of the question, even for himself. Everyone would have to physically pry him out of the kitchen before he could touch any sort of sharp object; a pair of wooden chopsticks were the least of their worries. Udai-san had given him folders -- thankfully they were colour-coded -- brimming with take-home edits that he had to fulfil by 23:59 tonight. The leeway was indeed gratifying, and Keiji felt somewhat humbled by the action. 

Of course, he had already finished his edits. With annotations to his various Japanese literature readings back in university, Keiji was diligent and post-its provided copious amounts of dopamine into his brain. The book ended up looking like more of a how-to-read-in-different-tones guide rather than a piece of literature that he needed to critically analyze with the myriad of archetypes that were then engraved into the past-student's mind. Alas, the habit still carried on into adulthood. Keiji was looking around the room. Before he takes on the arduous challenge of folding -- courtesy of his contact with Inarizaki High School’s old captain -- it was as messy as it could be. However, thanks to Kita-san, everything seemed to be in place. He then paces to the kitchen and removes the recipe that he had handwritten, in print, and stuck onto the refrigerator that was adorned with multicoloured magnets bought from multiple travels.

It wasn’t as if Keiji hadn’t dabbled in the culinary arts before. He wasn’t a broke university student, but he was alone. Thus, he still had to feed himself. Gone were the homemade bentos that his mother filled with _unagi don_ , and the occasional _Nanohana no Karashiae_ \-- if they happened to be in season. She interestingly never chose to hire a cook. The Akaashi household was quite well-off; and with Keiji being the only-child, the parental fondness never wavered, lest the filial piety. That aside, he was an independent, now twenty-five-year-old, man. He could cook an edible Christmas cake, he was mildly sure of it. Keiji is vigorously whisking an egg mixture to make the cake somewhat fluffy, failing badly, when a knock comes at the door.

“Keiji?”

Keiji carefully places both the bowl and whisk down, then turns to the door. There is a sound of clothes shuffling, shoes being placed on the _genkan_ , when the voice finally comes to light. Miya Osamu: twenty-five-years-old, twin-brother of national volleyball player Miya Atsumu, and professional chef specializing in onigiris and Miya Keiji’s heart.

“Hey, darlin’!” Osamu says, grinning on his way towards his boyfriend. He reaches the editor and gives him a quick peck on the lips.

“Hi, love. Long day?” Keiji asks, smoothening both the wrinkles on Osamu’s shirt, as well as his forehead.

Osamu nods, burying his head into Keiji’s neck, “Tons of customers. Guess they wanted to get as many onigiris as they could before Christmas comes.” He sighs. Peeking behind Keiji, a slow grin starting to form on his face.

" _Kurisumasukēki_?” Keiji nods. 

“I’m...trying?” Laughing, Osamu places an arm around his boyfriend’s waist, angling him to his side. 

“Ya were usin’ a whisk to mix this up?” 

“Yes? Is it wrong?” Keiji looked at Osamu with a small frown. The former was sure that he needed to mix the egg mixture together, he figured that the structure of the whisk would serve its function well, at least better than the spoon Keiji had attempted to use. Of course, failing again in the result.

“Why do ya think I bought a stand mixer, then?” Osamu points to the sleek grey machine on the kitchen counter. Osamu had bought it as a result of Keiji’s request for him to make _kasutera_ a while back.

_“This,” he had said, “Will save ya tons of time.”_

_“It’s not like I’m going to be baking anytime soon, Osamu.”_

“Ya could’a saved yerself some elbow-grease,” Osamu begins as he makes his way towards the stand mixer, bowl in hand. Pouring all the contents into the mixing bowl, Osamu gives an expert flick of his wrist to turn the machine on. Keiji watches in fascination as the frothy yellow egg mixture he had been trying to get to turn white slowly pales in colour. Osamu stops the machine and grabs a silicone spatula from the drawer. He takes the bowl of dry ingredients that Keiji had placed to the side earlier and slowly pours it in, being sure to fold the mixture as he goes. 

“Did’ya get the butter mixture ready?” Osamu asks. Keiji nods and grabs a small glass bowl from the microwave. Osamu proceeds to pour some of the batter in the bowl then add it to the stand mixer.

“Why did you do that?”

“The melted butter could’a deflated the batter if we added it right away,” Osamu says, continuing his task of incorporating all the ingredients together. “I know ya like yer cakes fluffy too.” Keiji laughs softly, gently punching his lover’s arm.

“Hey, it’s true! Ya can’t dispute science.” 

“Oh my gosh. Shut up and help me finish this already.”

Chuckling, Osamu guides Keiji through the rest of the steps. They prepare the whipped cream that they would use to frost the cake later, as well as the fresh strawberries that should never be missed.

Osamu scraps the remaining cream down the bowl and pokes his finger into the remnants on the spatula. He holds it up in the sliver of space between them, “Say ah~”.

Leaning in, Keiji quickly licks the sweet cream off Osamu’s finger. He preens, it was light, fluffy, it was perfect. Osamu was everything from a chef to a patisserie. Osamu’s eyes glints, the corners of his mouth turning up. Grinning, he licks the remaining cream on the spatula before placing it in the dishwasher.

“Yer cheeky, Keiji.” he teases. Taking some oven-mittens from the counter, he proceeds to take the cake out of the oven, flipping it professionally onto a baking rack to let it cool. 

  
  


* * *

_ビニル_

_Biniru_

_vinyl_

* * *

Afterwards, they take to the couch. Osamu fiddles with their vinyl collection. It was extensive. Years and years of both of their cumulative collections compiled and alphabetically arranged into two rustic wooden drawers. This was one of the things they’d immediately found similar between them. From Kyu Sakamoto, Hibari Misora, Ella Fitzgerald, to Paul McCartney. They collected records from all around the world

“Will there ever come a time where you would actually admit that you were in the wrong?”

“Nah. It’s never a mistake with ya.” Keiji blushes and looks away, choosing to focus on their vintage turntable which they fought tooth-and-nail to get. That was the only time that they’d ever fought with a forty-something year old that coincidentally chose to be trendy after the pair had talked to him about their extensive vinyl collection. 

Osamu stands up and offers a hand. Keiji, in turn, smiles. He knows where this is going. He isn’t embarrassed by the fact that the two of them had an ongoing tradition of dancing -- swaying on Keiji’s part -- in sporadic moments to various tunes. Sometimes they’d play Queen’s I Was Born To Love You. Keiji flushing under Osamu’s attention; giggling when the latter sang the lyrics back to him. Osamu spins him round-and-round until Keiji pleads for him to stop, laughing into his chest while Osamu places a kiss onto his head. It had started when the two had first moved in together. They’d bought a medium-sized apartment in Chiyoda; not far from either Keiji’s workplace, or Osamu’s restaurant. They were quite financially stable all by themselves. Osamu had brought his own personal collection of vinyl, as did Keiji. Since then, they’ve fallen into the habit of roaming around Shibuya, hunting for records dating back to the ’20s. 

Keiji smiles as he remembers the first time Osamu had asked him to dance. It was raining outside, the soft pitter-patter of the raindrops hitting their balcony, the wind swaying their wind chimes into a wistful melody. They hadn’t used their record player then. Keiji was sitting on an armchair that was facing one of their apartment’s bigger windows when Osamu tapped his shoulder.

  
  


_“_ ** _Miya_ ** _Keiji,” Osamu started, bowing his head slightly, but eyes never left Keiji’s._

_Keiji flushed with being called his marital name. Osamu chuckled, never failing to be endeared by the man in front of him. He held out his hand towards his lover and pulled him up to his feet._

_“What’s wrong?” Keiji looked confused as Osamu brought him to the centre of their living room, shoving all the clutter that they hadn’t unpacked yet to the side._

_“May I have this dance?” Osamu asked, a soft smile playing on his lips. Keiji gave a small smile, and that was all it took for Osamu to place his hands around the former’s waist, hold his hand, and start swaying to the steady rhythm of the rain._

_“You must know that I am not even close to being an adequate dancer.”_

_“Ya don’t hav’ta be. Come on, let me guide ya.”_

  
  
  


Now, looking at his husband, his rocket metal grey eyes gleaming with love, Keiji is sure of five things:

  1. The armchair that they adore is too heavy that if the pair sits on it at the same time, it leaves marks on their hardwood floor.
  2. Keiji will get the Samoyed that he’s been eyeing in the animal shelter, no matter what.
  3. Bokuto-san is Keiji’s best friend, and Atsumu-san is Osamu’s.
  4. Osamu needs to help Keiji reinstall their new oven toaster since the last on was horribly busted _(Keiji was sleep-toasting)_.
  5. Keiji is irrevocably, whole-heartedly, undoubtedly, in love with Miya Osamu.



“What are ya thinking so hard about?” 

Osamu gets up from his position on the floor that he took while scouring for a specific record; Keiji must’ve been spacing out for longer than he thought. Osamu places the record of choice onto the turntable, gently lowering the tonearm.

_White Christmas by Bing Crosby_

“How cheesy.”

“Ya love it.” Keiji does. Osamu, once again, brings them to the middle of their living room. The only difference now is that there is a large wool carpet covering the once exposed wood, solely for the purpose of the two getting to make pillow forts and not need a sheet.

> _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_
> 
> _Just like the ones I used to know_
> 
> _Where the treetops glisten and children listen_
> 
> _To hear sleigh bells in the snow_

“I love you.”

Their steps were slowly falling in sync. One foot back, another forward; one to the left, another to the right. Keiji lifts his eyes to meet Osamu’s. He smiles, no longer paying acute attention to his two left feet. For in front of him was the love of his life, there was no better view. His ivory skin, ebony coloured hair, bright eyes -- Keiji allows himself to slowly fall deeper in love with the flush that spanned from cheek to cheek, leaning in closer to rub his nose on the blush on Osamu’s; they giggle in tandem. While the snow slowly falls outside their windows, Keiji has never felt warmer. 

* * *

_クリスマス_

_Kurisumasu_

_Christmas_

* * *

  
  


“Alrighty! Time to decorate!”

“If the whipped cream and strawberries are even enough to cover the entire cake, considering you ate them all.”

Osamu’s nose crinkles as he lets out a loud guffaw, “Ya insult me.”

Keiji smiles as he takes out a bottle of syrup to spread on the first layer of the cake, before using their offset spatula to carefully spread whipped cream. He snatches the plate with sliced strawberries before Osamu could fully devour them all, eliciting a laugh from the latter.

“Can you help me, at least?” he sighs, removing the excess cream that was becoming too thick for the first layer -- he had become greedy under his lover’s influence.

“I like watching ya cook.”

Keiji snorts, quite unattractive, but Osamu found it endearing nonetheless. Finished with frosting the whole cake and placing strawberries -- as best he can -- for decoration, Keiji slices a huge piece and gives it to Osamu.

“Ya really know the way to my heart.”

“Well, I’d hope so. Considering we have been married for six years now.” Osamu smiles, taking out a fork from a drawer, poking one of the sweet strawberries dipped in whipped cream, and brings it over to Keiji’s mouth.

“Ah~”

“I can eat on my own…” Keiji opens his mouth nonetheless. To be honest, there was no point in trying to oppose Osamu’s ministrations any longer.

“I suppose ya could. But then again, what would I be ‘ere for?” Keiji looks at the small whipped cream smear at the corner of Osamu’s mouth. He looks at the white Fir Christmas tree seated at the corner beside their favourite armchair. He casts his eyes upon their still-rotating record player, their woollen rug, the _kurisumasukēki_ , the never-ceasing snow, and finally, to Osamu. 

“I am eternally grateful.” Keiji breathes, falling backwards into the waiting arms of his lover as if he’d known that they were there to catch his fall.

“As am I.”

> _I'm dreaming of a white Christmas_
> 
> _With every Christmas card I write_
> 
> _May your days be merry and bright_
> 
> _And may all your Christmases be white_

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> and DONE!
> 
> merry late Christmas! well, in my country it isn't, we start celebrating in the ber-months, so it's technically still counted. 
> 
> a n y w a y s! thank you for clicking on this fic! this was made solely revolving around my favourite Christmas song (hence the title), so I hoped you enjoyed it! this is also my first Haikyu fic, a rare pair as my first fic, yes. nevertheless, I wanted to release some type of Osaaka fic before the year ends. why? because they deserve it *brings hand to heart*.
> 
> it might be quite redundant at this point, but this year has undoubtedly been hard for all of us. I hope we can all give ourselves some time to relax on the last day of 2020; exhale, and look forward to a new year.
> 
> a few things: bokuaka and the miya twins are each other's respective bffs, fight me (ง •̀_•́)ง. I wrote this fic for the sole purpose of exhibiting my Christmas-is-Osaaka's-holiday-agenda. Lastly, that chair indentation incident happened to me multiple times, truly a travesty. 
> 
> some links:  
> 
> 
> [ _Kurisumasukēki_ ](https://www.justonecookbook.com/japanese-strawberry-shortcake/)
> 
> [ _White Christmas by Bing Crosby_ ](https://open.spotify.com/track/4so0Wek9Ig1p6CRCHuINwW)
> 
> last but not the least, this is un-betad ε=┌(;･_･)┘ 
> 
> stay safe and healthy always! and happy holidays ヽ(〃･ω･)ﾉ


End file.
